my emissaries to go to the courts of Europe to announce my coronation,’ she said. ‘Cecil suggests that I send you to Philip of Spain in Brussels. Shall you like to tell your old master that I am now anointed queen?’
‘As you wish,’ he agreed at once, hiding his irritation. ‘But are you going to stay indoors at work all day today, Your Grace? Your hunter is waiting, the weather is fine.’
He caught her longing glance towards the window and her hesitation.
‘The French ambassador …’ Cecil remarked for her ear only.
She shrugged. ‘The ambassador can wait, I suppose.’
‘And I have a new hunter that I thought you might try,’ Dudley said temptingly. ‘From Ireland. A bright bay, a handsome horse, and strong.’
‘Not too strong, I hope,’ Cecil said.
‘The queen rides like a Diana.’ Dudley flattered her to her face, not even glancing at the older man. ‘There is no-one to match her. I would put her on any horse in the stables and it would know its master. She rides like her father did, quite without fear.’
Elizabeth glowed a little at the praise. ‘I will come in an hour,’ she said. ‘First, I have to see what these people want.’ She glanced around the room and the men and women stirred like spring corn when the breeze passes over it. Her very glance could make them ripple with longing for her attention.
Dudley laughed quietly. ‘Oh, I can tell you that,’ he said cynically. ‘It needn’t take an hour.’
She tipped her head to one side to listen, and he stepped up to the throne so that he could whisper in her ear. Cecil saw her eyes dance and how she put her hand to her mouth to hold in her laughter.
‘Shush, you are a slanderer,’ she said, and slapped the back of his hand with her gloves.
At once, Dudley turned his hand over, palm up, as if to invite another smack. Elizabeth averted her head and veiled her eyes with her dark lashes.
Dudley bent his head again, and whispered to her once more. A giggle escaped from the queen.
‘Master Secretary,’ she said. ‘You must send Sir Robert away, he is too distracting.’
Cecil smiled pleasantly at the younger man. ‘You are most welcome to divert Her Grace,’ he said warmly. ‘If anything, she works too hard. The kingdom cannot be transformed in a week, there is much to do but it will have to be done over time. And …’ He hesitated. ‘Many things we will have to consider carefully, they are new to us.’
— And you are at a loss half the time — Robert remarked to himself. — I would know what should be done. But you are her advisor and I am merely Master of Horse. Well, so be it for today. So I will take her riding. —
Aloud he said with a smile: ‘There you are then! Your Grace, come out and ride with me. We need not hunt, we’ll just take a couple of grooms and you can try the paces of this bay horse.’
‘Within the hour,’ she promised him.
‘And the French ambassador can ride with you,’ Cecil suggested.
A swift glance from Robert Dudley showed that he realised he had been burdened with chaperones but Cecil’s face remained serene.
‘Don’t you have a horse he can use in the stables?’ he asked, challenging Robert’s competence, without seeming to challenge him at all.
‘Of course,’ Robert said urbanely. ‘He can have his pick from a dozen.’
The queen scanned the room. ‘Ah, my lord,’ she said pleasantly to one of the waiting men. ‘How glad I am to see you at court.’
It was his cue for her attention and at once he stepped forward. ‘I have brought Your Grace a gift to celebrate your coming to the throne,’ he said.
Elizabeth brightened, she loved gifts of any sort, she was as acquisitive as a magpie. Robert, knowing that what would follow would be some request for the right to cut wood or enclose common land, to avoid a tax or persecute a neighbour, stepped down from the dais, bowed, walked backwards from the throne, bowed again at the door and went out to the stables.
Despite the French ambassador, a couple of lords, some small-fry gentry, a couple of ladies in waiting and half a dozen guards that Cecil had collected to accompany the queen, Dudley managed to ride by her side and they were left alone for most of the ride. At least two men muttered that Dudley was shown more favour than he deserved, but Robert ignored them, and the queen did not hear.
They rode westerly, slowly at first through the streets and then lengthening the pace of the horses as they entered the yellowing winter grassland of St James’s Park. Beyond the park, the houses gave way to market gardens to feed the insatiable city, and then to open fields, and then to wilder country. The queen was absorbed in managing the new horse, who fretted at too tight a rein but would take advantage and toss his head if she let him ride too loose.
‘He needs schooling,’ she said critically to Robert.
‘I thought you should try him as he is,’ he said easily. ‘And then we can decide what is to be done with him. He could be a hunter for you, he is strong enough and he jumps like a bird, or he could be a horse you use in processions, he is so handsome and his colour is so good. If you want him for that, I have a mind to have him specially trained, taught to stand and to tolerate crowds. I thought your grey fretted a little when people pushed very close.’
‘You can’t blame him for that!’ she retorted. ‘They were waving flags in his face and throwing rose petals at him!’
He smiled at her. ‘I know. But this will happen again and again. England loves her princess. You will need a horse that can stand and watch a tableau, and let you bend down and take a posy from a child without shifting for a moment, and then trot with his head up looking proud.’
She was struck by his advice. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘And it is hard to pay attention to the crowd and to manage a horse.’
‘I don’t want you to be led by a groom either,’ he said decidedly. ‘Or to ride in a carriage. I want them to see you mastering your own horse. I don’t want anything taken away from you. Every procession should add to you, they should see you higher, stronger, grander even than life.’
Elizabeth nodded. ‘I have to be seen as strong, my sister was always saying she was a weak woman, and she was always ill, all the time.’
‘And he is your colour,’ he said impertinently. ‘You are a bright chestnut yourself.’
She was not offended, she threw back her head and laughed. ‘Oh, d’you think he is a Tudor?’ she asked.
‘For sure, he has the temper of one,’ Robert said. He and his brothers and sisters had been playmates in the royal nursery at Hatfield, and all the Dudley children had felt the ringing slap of the Tudor temper. ‘Doesn’t like the bridle, doesn’t like to be commanded, but can be gentled into almost anything.’
She gleamed at him. ‘If you are so wise with a dumb beast, let’s
